


Cage of Bones

by RedSkittleQueen



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:48:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedSkittleQueen/pseuds/RedSkittleQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of letting him go, the Guardians capture Pitch. Jack finds himself drawn to their prisoner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cage of Bones

**A.N:** I own nothing.

 

 **A.N#2:** Written to the _Game of Thrones_ soundtracks.

 

.

 

_the crunch_

people are not good to each other.

perhaps if there were

our deaths would not be so sad.

—Charles Bukowski, _Love is a Dog from Hell_

 

.

 

Cage of Bones

 

.

 

It was five against one.

Jack had little stomach for what they were about to do, even though it made sense to keep their enemy close. The Guardians wouldn't make that same mistake twice, not after what it had almost cost them. But still, it hit closer to home than the winter spirit liked. He knew about imprisonment intimately, his bars and jailors being silence and isolation for three hundred years, his cage as pitiless and unyielding as moonlight. Some part of himself hated the moment when dawning realization lit Pitch's features, the charcoal skin paling. He shouldn't feel this empathy for a fallen enemy, an enemy that had tried so hard to destroy all the children's faith in the Guardians. _He had come to me, once._ Jack shook the memory of Antarctica away, irritated, and threw himself into aiding the others capture the Nightmare King. As they took him the dark spirit wavered between threats and pleas, tripping on his black cloak in his struggle to flee. It was Bunnymund who caught and wrestled Pitch to the ground, holding the weakened dark spirit as the Sandman wove golden bounds out of thin air. Burly North hefted Pitch under his arm as if he weighed no more than a bag of silk, roaring laughter at the fallen king's struggles. When Pitch began to scream promises of retribution, Bunnymund stuffed an egg into his mouth. He went quietly after that, gray face a mask of brittle fury and humiliation. Jack lagged behind the crowing procession, pretending to “stay downwind of Pitch's stench.” Tooth tittered at that and left him alone. Only Baby Tooth stayed behind.

“It's nothing,” he said to the tiny fairy, shooting her a grin. The little face scrunched with skepticism, her little chirps sounding suspiciously like scolding. He laughed. She had gone through too much with him to deserve falseness, but the unnameable emotions in his chest were too new and raw. His mirth bled away and for a single instant wished he was somewhere else, back in his lonely mountain forests, back when no one could see or hear him. Baby Tooth chirruped again, her dragonfly wings humming. Jack waved her away and made his slow trek after the others, frustrated he wasn't happier than he should be.

 

.

 

.s.

 

.

 

The Guardians wasted no time in constructing a cage for the Nightmare King. They would keep Pitch in North's headquarters, deep in the bowels of the ice.

“No more mischief,” North boomed. He patted Pitch's head and laughed when he ducked the touch with a muffled snarl. “We learn from last time, yes. No more leaving eyes from you!”

Sandman was in charge of most of the building, weaving his golden sands into a room-sized prison cut into the ice. Whether by magic or design, once it was woven, the golden bars seemingly winked out of existence, leaving behind a room so white it reminded Jack of fresh-fallen snow. _Or moonlight._ It was a good twelve feet across and twelve feet wide, cut deep. There was nothing in it, no bed, no desk, nothing. The Guardians were cruel. The Sandman had built a prison made of light; without a single shadow to hide in, Pitch would stand out in sharp contrast, sharp and thin and dark. Visible. Tamed. When Sandman deemed it ready with a flourished bow, Jack was taken off-guard.

“Where're the bars? Won't he—”

North shushed him. “You see. Watch. Our Sandy makes great home for our troublemaker.”

It was in this room where they shoved Pitch. Once the dark spirit stumbled across the threshold the golden binds melted away, leaving him free. Without wasting a second he tore the egg from his mouth and threw it across the room, where it splattered in gooey mess against the wall. He whirled around to face his captors, fury and the first tints of fear scrawled across his face. His uneven teeth were bared in an animalistic snarl, nose wrinkling, and a long-ago memory of a cornered wolf flashed in Jack's mind. The wolf had been worrying a farmer's flock of sheep hundreds of years ago, back when the beasts still roamed the forest and howled their song. After weeks of hunting, it was finally caught in a steel trap. It had half-chewed its leg off by the time the hunters found it, and by then it was mad with fear and pain and desperation. Something tightened in Jack's chest as he recognized the same look on Pitch's normally composed visage. He shifted his weight uneasily, somewhat disturbed at Pitch's nearness. Without the constant reminder of the bars, it appeared as if the dark spirit was standing there of his own volition.

The Nightmare King hissed. “You think to keep me here?” he said, voice high in indignation and something else, something like betrayal, or disbelief. “You mean to contain me, the Boogeyman?”

“That's the main idea, yeah,” Bunnymund said, satisfied gleam in his eye. He and the other Guardians twitched when their enemy threw himself at them, wisps of his dark sand spilling from his hands. The phantom blades shot straight for their hearts at lightening speed. Jack whirled into action, staff keening with power as he prepared to throw himself out of harm's way. The attack never came. The winter spirit watched, open-mouthed, as the golden bars appeared. The black sand fizzled and dissolved like flies on an electric grid. The strands of the prison flared once before dissolving themselves into invisibility once more. Pitch stood as if slapped, a look of devastated horror scrawled on his face. As quickly as a summer thunderstorm the horror morphed into rage, metallic eyes going feverish. He tried again and again to unleash his darkness, but again it _fzzt_ 'ed against the glowing bars and died away. Already weakened, the attacks soon stopped.

Pitch drew to his imposing height and snarled. “What sorcery is this?”

The Sandman bowed. The dark shadow cast a sharp glance at the diminutive dream-caster, eyes narrowing into slits. If the Sandman was cowed, he made no show of it, meeting the Boogeyman's cool gaze with a blank one of his own. Toothiana chuckled, but there was no humor in it. Like the other Guardians she had suffered at Pitch's hands, but having her fairies kidnapped, teeth-memories stolen, and nearly losing her kingdom had brought out a darker side Jack hadn't known existed. He had been surprised when she'd punched the dark spirit with enough violence to break a tooth. Her wings hummed in the air besides him, fanning his white hair.

“We had help, of course,” North said.

Pitch's mouth twitched as he gazed down his long nose. “Oh?” he said, voice soft. Jack sensed the threat and tensed, frost crinkling up the length of his staff.

“Man in Moon.”

Pitch's face went slack. “What?”

The naked hurt was hard to look at. It was the same expression the fallen king had worn when he realized the children could no longer see him, horror and despair mixed into one. Pitch took a step back, arm raising as if to ward off an attack. Jack wondered if he was aware he was doing it. North plowed on as if he didn't notice, though his voice had gentled. “He gave us secret of the magic bars, to keep your darkness contained.”

Bunnymund wasn't as tactful. His smugness oozed out of every strand of fur as he said, “You're not leave this place any time soon, mate. Trust us.”

The bright white light had sapped away most of Pitch's complexion. The rich charcoal tones the shadows once gave him were gone; in the unyielding artificial light his skin appeared as sickly as a corpse's. His eyes shone like greasy coins, reflective and mad. Jack couldn't help but wonder if they had made a colossal mistake in capturing Pitch and bringing him here. Some creatures were broken under pain and torment; others were forged by it. As Jack stared at the cornered visage of their prisoner, he had the sinking feeling Pitch was the latter.

“Leave me, all of you leave me alone. You've had your _fun_ ,” the Nightmare King said, spitting the last word with a vehemence so malicious none of the Guardians had the heart to refuse. One by one the Protectors of the Children filed out of the room, the room Jack knew would haunt him for nights to come. He gave into the impulse to look over his shoulder. The shadow spirit had moved into a corner, back to them, a black stain amidst the glaring brightness.

“Best not bother him,” North said when they were out of hearing range. Jack was glad to leave that room. The urge for wide open spaces was making his fingers twitch. _The mountains,_ he thought.

Bunnymund snorted. “Why not? He has it good. He's surrounded by people who can see him.”

The great bear of a man stopped in mid-stride, causing Toothiana to collide into his back with a muffled _oomph!_ The winter spirit had to execute a quick side-step to avoid running into her. North turned around, his normally jolly countenance drawn with uncharacteristic solemnity.

“We are Guardians, not tormentors,” he said. “As tempting as it is, I want you all promise not to antagonize him.”

There was a silence save for Toothiana's wingbeats. Jack couldn't help but think, _You are already._ In a rare moment of prudence, he decided to hold his tongue, just as he had done with Baby Tooth. One of Bunnymund's ears rotated. Keeping his face still, the giant rabbit said in perfect seriousness, “I didn't realize you knew such a big word.”

North's expression darkened, dismissing the attempt at levity. “Promise.”

The Sandman was the first to pledge. With a gravity only an orange dream-casting mute could project, he made an X over his heart. The others were quick to fall in line.

“Fine,” Toothiana said, flipping a hand in the air, sniffing. “But that doesn't mean I don't like it. If I had my way, every single one of his disgusting teeth would've been ripped out! By the _root_.”

Jack whistled. “Remind me not to get on your bad side too.” As an inside joke, only the Sandman would've gotten it, but the dream-caster was too busy exchanging gazes with North to pay the winter spirit any attention.

Bunnymund shrugged. “No fur off my back. As long as he doesn't poke his nose in my Easter, I don't care if he rots in there.”

“I won't,” Jack said, promising the words with every good intention.

 

.

 

.s.

 

.

 

The strange disquiet didn't leave Jack despite the flight to the mountains. He considered visiting Jaime, but in the end decided against it. After such an intense conflagration of emotions and people, Jack hurried towards the simplicity of solitude. It still felt strange for others to see him, like it was all one big dream, too sweet to be real. The cold wind whistled in his ears as he flew at breakneck speed in the sky, pulling loop-de-loops and skimming clouds as if he weighed no more than a breath. It was sunset; the world was ablaze with fire from the dying sun, golds and pinks and purples smoldering the sky. Once he thought he saw a shade that match the colour of Pitch's iris. He physically shook his head to banish the thought. _Gotta take my mind of this,_ he thought. _Keep it together, Jack._ But he couldn't. He was a creature of fun, a product of playful mischievousness and kindness of character. Doing harm to others wasn't in his nature, especially this type. Left to him, he would've allowed the weakened Pitch to escape, even if it meant a confrontation later on. But imprisonment, isolation . . . had the Man in the Moon truly helped the Guardians constrain the Nightmare King? Jack shuddered under the implications. The psychological destruction of Pitch's goodness came from the very thing the Guardians and the Moon were inflicting on him. Three hundred years of isolation could've warped Jack the same way it had twisted the Nightmare King; he loathed to think what could happen now. The memory of Antarctica rose to the surface like a bad rash. Pitch's words came unbidden. _I know how it feels not to be believed in. To long for a family._ How exhilarated Pitch had appeared, how genuinely happy, aluminiferous eyes glowing as he uttered words Jack had yearned to hear for nearly half a millennia.

By the time Jack reached his favorite mountain, he was drained and restless. Night had fallen now, the sky like glittering soot, deep and vast. There was no moon tonight, which Jack was supremely grateful. He wasn't sure how well he could've coped standing in the Man of the Moon's light. The stars themselves case enough light for him to see. Turning a tree into an ice sculpture did nothing to alleviate the sense of confusion he had around Pitch's imprisonment. He toyed with the idea of bringing on a good old fashion blizzard, but he was a Guardian now; Guardians weren't supposed to unleash havoc such as that. They had responsibilities. He leapt from tree to tree, lost in thought, until he caught sight of flash of movement. The winter spirit paused, hovering between jumps, regarding the lupine shape beneath him. It was an animal; though it couldn't see him, it could sense the change in the air, could feel the bite of cold on its nose and ears. Jack looked around but saw no other paw marks. It was alone, packless. Despite its solitude it was large and healthy, belly rounded as if it had recently eaten. It paused, breath fogging in the air and covering its snout with frost, before slipping away on feet as silent as a shadow's. Jack watched it go, a familiar pang lancing his chest.

A squeaky chirp tore him out of his brooding faster than Pitch materializing in front of him and slapping his cheek. He patted himself down until he felt the shivering bundle in the pocket of his hoodie. He withdrew the tiny brightly-coloured fairy. She chirruped when she saw him, beaming at him between shivers.

“Baby Tooth? What are you doing here?” he asked. He watched as she flew out of his hand, starlight catching in the humming gossamer wings. His first instinct was _Tooth sent her to spy on me,_ but then he realized he was being cruel and ungrateful. Baby Tooth was his friend. His expression softened. “Was everything too much for you too?”

The tiny fairy nodded. Jack nodded, some of the unease melting away under the warmth of another creature's empathy. He winced at her tremors. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Gonna have to start packing a little blanket for you the next time we go on an adventure.”

Baby Tooth chirruped again, content. Jack smiled, but it wasn't an entirely happy one. “Sometimes I know I'm supposed to be a Guardian,” he said softly, as if to himself, “but other times, I feel like I'm the farthest thing from one. Get it?”

But the little fairy was quiet, hovering in the darkness and rising chill of the night, and Jack knew she didn't understand. The discontent returned with full force. There was only one other creature who knew him intimately, who would comprehend, and he was locked away in the bowels of the ice.

 

.

 

.s.

 

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Jack had meant to keep his word, truly did, but the winter spirit had spent too many centuries on his own. The thrall of independence still thrummed in his veins like a heartbeat, too strong to ignore. He went to the white room again, when all was quiet. On silent feet he padded down the hallway until he peeked his head around the corner. With a strange sort of dismay he realized the cage was still dizzyingly bright, as if day or night didn't matter. He found the Nightmare King pacing back and forth, and Jack was reminded of animals he'd seen in zoos, padding the length of their cage with single-minded focus, slowly going mad from their loss of freedom. Jack couldn't help but watch, unnoticed. As always the dark spirit moved with a grace Jack had no hope of matching, every movement sinuous and precise. Jack dared not use the word _beautiful,_ not even in the safety of his own mind, but there was something alluring to Pitch, an attraction none of the other Guardians possessed. _Dangerous_ would've been a better word, but dangerous and beautiful were interwoven too tightly to untangle. Pitch stilled when he perceived the winter spirit. Since his initial capture the fallen king appeared to have regained his composure; he drew himself up to his impressive height, expression of cool indifference spearing the winter spirit in place. Jack again found himself wishing for the cold certainty of the golden bars. He knew they were there, hidden, but it wasn't enough, not when Pitch appeared he could step out at any moment. Jack had left his staff behind to appear non-threatening, but now he regretted it. The lean creature before him oozed a sinister danger he could not attempt even if he tried for a thousand years. As if sensing Jack's trepidation, Pitch strolled closer, jagged teeth glittering as he smiled.

“Ah, Jack Frost the _Guardian,_ coming here to grace me with his presence.”

Jack hid a flinch. The title _guardian_ still fit oddly around his shoulders, as if it were a shirt three sizes too big. In Pitch's mouth it sounded like an insult, needled and aimed to hurt. Jack didn't rise to the bait. Since the flight to the mountain, much of his anger had turned to weariness. Weariness over the same fight, the odd mourning of what Pitch could've been had circumstances been different. As the silence wore on Pitch resumed his pacing, only this time kept his head turned towards the winter spirit. His footfalls made no sound against the white floor, as he was gliding on air. Jack found himself unable to look away, mesmerized. If he jumped he could've touched Pitch's slender arm. He hadn't been this close to the Boogeyman since Antarctica. _He has no scent,_ Jack realized.

The Guardian's silence seemed to irritate Pitch. When he spoke again his voice was high and accusing. “Come to watch from high, have you? It isn't enough no one can see me, that my exile has to be lowered to this. I have to be locked in a cage before you can come gloat.”

Jack frowned. “That's not why I came.”

Pitch stopped pacing and spread his hands out, as if to encompass the whole of the room. It looked like he was taking a perverted bow. “I have all the time in the world. _Do_ go on.”

The winter spirit shifted his weight. He hadn't thought that far ahead. Everything was awhirl in his brain, all of which seemed to scatter under the heaviness of Pitch's singular, predatory focus. He longed for the comfort of his staff. As the thick silence continued Pitch drew back, a dark look crossing the sharp planes of his features.

“And you used to be so chatty, Frost. Do not toy with me. You do have a purpose for coming to see me, right? Or have you come to torture me further? Yes, it must be torture, for why else?”

“No!” Jack hadn't realized he'd stepped right up to the edge of the prison until Pitch was looming over him, dark and all-encompassing. In move almost too fast to follow Pitch leaned down so he and Jack were nose-to-nose. The Guardian was about to stumble back, mouth dropping in surprise, when Pitch began sniffing the air as a dog would do, eyelids fluttering as he inhaled deeply. _The hell?_ Jack thought. He was close, closer than he'd ever been, close enough to see Pitch's skin had no pores, close enough to see the fractal spirals in the metallic irises. The thinnest breath of air separated them. They were close enough to kiss. Jack leapt back. Pitch's dark chuckles followed him. The Boogeyman straightened and smiled down at the winter spirit. The smile seemed too wide for Pitch's face, as if the skin was drawn too tight. Suddenly Jack became aware everything about Pitch seemed too tight, too compressed, as if he was a spring coiled beyond the limits of his capabilities.

“Gone away, have we? Back to your precious mountains?” Pitch said. There was viciousness in his grin, a savage glee, but there was something too, something buried too deep for Jack to see. It was gone before he could make it out. “Why am I not surprised.”

Jack shrugged. “Do you blame me? Catching you was tiring work.”

Pitch's mouth thinned. “Don't insult my intelligence.” Some dark sand spilled out of his fingertips, but both knew it was harmless. “We both know you're not like the others. You're about as much of a Guardian than I am.”

“I'm not like you,” Jack said, but as he did he could taste the lie like ash upon his tongue. Some of his discomfort must've shown on his face because Pitch's honed in like a shark scenting blood. In a voice that seemed genuinely curious, he asked: “Tell me, what did you feel when you learned the Man in the Moon helped the Guardians keep me prisoner?”

Jack regarded the lean creature before, this dark spirit he saw so much of himself in. He frowned again, recalling the lonely mountainside and the terrible idea that the Moon had a hand in Pitch's molding. _I could've turned out like him,_ Jack thought. After centuries of isolation, who wouldn't? His love of fun and mischief had kept him from turning bitter and warped, but what had Pitch had? The tension in his frame bled away and he stood in front of the Nightmare King.

“It was wrong what they did to you,” Jack said. Pitch stilled, staring at the boy. “The imprisonment, I mean.” The Guardian waved a hand, as if to include the room. “You've had too much of this, I think.”

For once the Nightmare King was silent, gazing at the boy with a blankness more threatening than any passion. Like a bad joke the memory of Antarctica resurfaced. The urge to ask became too great. Jack tried to control the earnestness in his voice, attempting the gruffness Bunnymund projected so well.

“Was anything you said true? Back there. The part about wanting a family. Knowing what it's like.”

Pitch's expression smoothed and softened. He clucked. “Still disbelieving, Jack? After everything we've shared together, you still doubt? You understand what it means to be alone, friendless, forever on the outside looking it, and so do I. That's what makes us two sides of the same coin. That's why you can never truly be a Guardian.” The Nightmare King suddenly shuffled and crouched at the very edge of his prison, and Jack found himself in the uncomfortable position of looking down at the wan, upturned face. The eyes were shining coins, wide and fervent. “One day they'll do to you what they've done to me, and when that happens you'll have no one to turn to, no one to trust. It doesn't have to be this way. I can help you. Save me, and I'll make sure nothing bad happens to us. We could be great, you know. What do you say?”

Jack was quiet, motionless. Some deep instinct told him if he freed the Nightmare King Pitch would do everything he said. No double-crossing, no snatching the staff, no breaking it in two. The Boogeyman's illusions were strongest when there was truth to them, and Jack sensed only genuine, if twisted, earnestness. _He meant every word,_ he thought. He thought of the jagged ice sculpture, remembering thinking how beautiful and treacherous it was. But the winter spirit knew the costs. If he went with Pitch he would be giving his staff over for nothing to show for it but a world of black ice. Children would come to fear him, a fate almost worse than isolation. He came to the conclusion slowly, regarding the sad creature before him, a creature that had once been good before bitterness and silent moonlight transformed him into what he was now. Jack understood. What Pitch stood for once ran in Jack's heart, back when the anger and despair of his existence felt too great to bear. He shook his head slowly, never looking away, as if to ease the bite of his imminent rejection.

“I'm sorry, Pitch. I can't. Not like this.”

The hope, so clear and heartbreaking on Pitch's face, collapsed. Jack tried to school his expression, but it was too late. The Nightmare King recognized the pity in Jack's eyes and disintegrated into fury. With a roar Pitch slammed a fist straight at Jack's face, remembering too late the bars. A loud golden flash and an electric stench of ozone later found Jack on the ground, nose and lips tingling. Pitch was hopping up and down, howling, his hand cradled to his chest as if it'd been cut off. He began to lick and suck on his fingers and knuckles in a desperate attempt to ease the hurt. Jack must have made a sound because Pitch whirled on him, deranged snarl filling the air.

“Out, _out!_ ” Amidst the pain the rage was terrible in the Boogeyman's voice, but it sounded as if he was wailing, too. “Get out!”

Jack leapt to his feet and fled.

 

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.s.

 

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A month passed since the fateful visit. With the threat of Pitch and his Nightmares contained, there was no more reason for the Guardians to remain at the Pole. Each dispersed in their own manner, Bunnymund laughing when North offered to 'drive' him home. At first Jack had been skittish and suspicious, eying the other Guardians to see if they knew he'd gone to Pitch. But as days went by and not a word was said, the winter spirit relaxed. He visited Jaime and his friends whenever he could, a warmth exploding in his chest whenever he heard the cries “Jack Frost! It's Jack Frost!” He relished every moment, drinking in every smile and laugh his antics caused. It had been easy at first to submerse himself in the joy, as time went on, the more he thought about Pitch. He wanted to forget the Nightmare King, but for some reason he clung to Jack like an annoying tick. The thought _That could've been me in that cage_ plagued him. But he wasn't in that cage. He was a Guardian. Children like Jaime could finally see him. He now had a family. Joy was now in his heart.

It was a full moon that night, the night world blanketed in a coat of silver. The whole town of Burgess was asleep, some of the Sandman's golden sand wisping through the air. Jack stood atop Jaime's roof, appearing very much like the guardian protector he was supposed to be. Back and forth he paced, once and a while casting a pensive glance at the Man in the Moon. The moon seemed bigger for some reason, bloated, and Jack couldn't take it anymore. He rounded on it and shouted,

“You happy now?”

There was no answer, but after centuries of silence, Jack wasn't expecting one. He made a sound of disgust and turned around. He was about to fly off the roof, fully prepared to get out of the moonlight, when a whisper stopped him. Later, when everything had passed, he would look back to that moment and know he had sensed a presence next to him. Jack whirled, staff raised, but froze at the glimmering blue projection in front of him. It was moonpale, corporeal enough to appear solid. It floated on nothing. Jack's eyes went round with wonder as he recognized the drifting shape. It was his staff. The winter spirit took a hesitant step forward, hand stretched out.

“Whoa!” Jack recoiled with surprise as the shimmering weapon superimposed on his own, melting into the wood like silk. It glowed blue for a heartbeat before dulling. Jack stared at his staff as if it had grown three heads. After a moment he brought it to his face, inspecting it, but he could see nothing different. He cast a suspicious eye at the Moon. Perhaps it was his overreactive imagination, but it seemed pleased with itself. Jack frowned, trying to understand what was going on, when an image came his head. He saw himself in front of Pitch's prison, extending the hook of his staff to the bars. As sudden as the vision came it disappeared, leaving Jack blinking and wondering what the hell just happened. He looked at his staff, at the Moon, then back at his staff. His forehead wrinkled at he glanced back at the shining globe.

“You serious?”

The Man in the Moon said nothing, shining.

 

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.s.

 

.

 

It would seem suspicious for him to randomly visit North, so Jack decided on stealth. He waited till nightfall before slipping through North's skylight, landing on silent feet and using the shadows to skirt around the Yetis. North was nowhere to be found, which Jack was supremely glad for. He still thought this was a crazy idea, an idea that would put him in a heap of trouble with the other Guardians once they found out. But how could something like this feel so right? And why would the normally communication-constipated Moon suddenly show him how to free Pitch and not except Jack to do it? Jack's footfalls pattered on the plush persian carpets as he made his way to the lower levels. He ducked twice to avoid grunting Yetis and once for a gaggle of bell-bedecked elves, but for the rest of the way he was unmolested. The staff in his hand crinkled with frost the deeper he went.

Pitch was leaning against one of the walls, arms folded across his narrow chest. He stiffened and righted himself the moment he noticed Jack. His gaze flicked once to the staff before resting on the Guardian, glowering.

Jack couldn't resist. “How's the hand?”

The Boogeyman stared down his long nose at him in a stony silence, not deigning a word. For once it didn't matter. Jack was too restless and jittery to care; he'd never attempted a jailbreak before, and the sense of forbidden mischievousness was heady. The thoughts of the other Guardians were far away. All what mattered was this.

“Don't say anything, just listen,” Jack said. Something like irritated bemusement crossed Pitch's face, but continued his sullen silence. Jack pressed on. “I don't want anything from you, nor will I ever, so you can stop with the offers. I'm going to free you now, but not because of anything you did or said.” More to himself, he muttered, “If this is even going to work.”

Pitch was a stone for all he showed, but he retreated to the far wall when Jack walked to the edge of the prison. The winter spirit took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose. Just as he had done in the vision, Jack extended the shepherd's hook towards the invisible bars, bracing for sparks, golden explosions, pain, anything. When the tip of the staff touched the threshold a ripple of blue expanded across the surface like fire, the golden strands snapping and popping. Then there was nothing. Pitch was staring hard at him now. Jack pushed his staff at the bars again, but this time it whistled through empty air. The silence was deafening. The Guardian moved aside and waited. Gingerly, moving with the suspicion of a wild animal, Pitch inched his way across the white room, slowing as he neared the edge. He winced, bracing himself for the moment he crossed the threshold, clearly remembering what happened the last time he touched it. Then he was over. Pitch snapped his head up, eyes wide. They stared at each for all of five seconds.

Then Pitch was bolting, tearing down the hallways as if hell was chomping at his heels. Jack pounded after him, leaping to keep up, forever one step behind the shadow. Pitch burst into North's globe room, causing Yetis to go into an uproar. Several tried to grab him but the Nightmare King was a lick of quicksilver, evading every swipe and snatch with a grace that took Jack's breath away. Leaping onto the giant globe glowing with children everywhere, the shadow scaled the wall and slithered out through the skylight. Jack followed him. He stopped at the windowsill, still breathing hard from the chase. Pitch was there on the roof, half in shadow and half brazened in silver from the moonlight. He was looking back, stilling when he noticed Jack. Something inscrutable flitted across Pitch's face before he melted away into the darkness, leaving Jack to wonder if he had seen anything in the first place.

 

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_end_


End file.
